


Rabbit Hearted

by secondstar, Tsuminoaru



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Historical, Blood, Explicit Sexual Content, Human Sacrifice, M/M, Wolf Derek, Wolf Pack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-12
Updated: 2014-11-11
Packaged: 2018-02-20 22:58:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2446253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/secondstar/pseuds/secondstar, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tsuminoaru/pseuds/Tsuminoaru
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Storytellers were known for their talented tongues, their ability to weave tales and enthrall the listener. Their stories held weight, taken as truth as they were passed down from generation to generation. A tale of a cursed pack of wolves was one such story that Stiles had known since he was a child. Never did he think that he would become part of that tale, or that its weight would be up upon his shoulders. </p><p>A tale of curses, sacrifices, and acceptance of one's inner self.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> written for tsuminubiaru's prompt.
> 
> all artwork by tsumi!
> 
> beta'd by bk, lauren, laura, and beth.
> 
> update: please do not REPOST this fic anywhere else without my consent. Please do not put it on GoodReads that is a site for PUBLISHED works, not fic.

Storytellers were known for their talented tongues, their ability to weave tales and enthrall the listener. They passed down stories from long ago, stories that taught morals to young children and reminded the elderly of past mistakes. Every story was unique and each held its own meaning.

Stiles grew up listening to his mother tell stories. She had been his village’s storyteller, holder of knowledge and overseer to the council of elders. He knew most of the ones she told in public word for word, whispering them to himself as he sat within earshot, whittling different animals into blocks of wood absentmindedly. He wasn’t next in line to be storyteller, that task lay with Lydia, a beautiful redhead whom Stiles used to follow around in his younger years. No, Stiles wasn’t a storyteller, but that didn’t mean he didn’t appreciate the tales of warning and of past strife. It reminded him that the future was unwritten and that anything was possible. 

At the ripe age of eighteen, he was no longer considered a child in the eyes of the village. He’d had his coming-of-age ceremony earlier in the year, a bonfire higher than him had been lit as symbols were drawn on his body, written in blood by his father who was one of the city elders. Stiles hadn’t picked a life path yet. He enjoyed too many things to choose only one. He liked to hunt, he liked to bake, he liked to whittle with his knife, handing off small figurines of animals to the smaller children of the village. He liked building and repairing, which was what he currently did. He thought of himself as someone with his fingers in many pies, a jack of all trades, able to get by in about any circumstance but not great enough to be a master of any. 

He was not his father, a great man and leader, nor was he his mother, charismatic with a silver tongue. He was tall, lanky with sinewy muscle and unruly hair that he kept shorn short instead of long and in braids like the other male villagers. He went against the herd, hadn’t listened when he was younger when the elders asked things of him. Now, he spent his days helping anywhere he could, not caring as long as there was a hot meal and a roof over his head at the end of the day. 

The sky was overcast, clouds threatening to bring rain by the sound of thunder off in the distance, but that didn’t sway his mother’s story time. Stiles sat on a stump, hunched over as he worked on a carving of a wolf as he listened to her tale. 

“Out there, deep within the woods, there are a pack of wolves,” she said, her eyes wide and face animated as she grabbed the attention of all around her. Stiles smirked to himself, because he knew the tale well. “They aren’t like the wolves that you and I know, the ones whose hides we wear in the winter months, no. These wolves are cursed, damned for eternity. Do you know why?” She asked a young girl before her. The girl shook her head no. 

Stiles sighed as he half listened to the story. It wasn’t one of his favorites. It was a tale of love and betrayal, of death and a curse. There were two villages, one was much like theirs, while another held a secret. When the moon was full, they were able to become wolves. It was a tale long told, of the dangers of the woods that surrounded their village. It kept children from straying far from home, to not trust people they didn’t know. 

One day, a boy from the village unlike their own fell in love with a girl. He was a monster, though, deep down, and ended up slaughtering the entire village. This was where Stiles rolled his eyes, because if every villager had been killed, then whom would the story have come from? No survivors meant no story, but that wasn’t the point. The point was he was cursed by a witch woman. His mother told it best, but the gist of the story was that he was to walk the earth as a wolf for all eternity until the curse could be broken. 

The one thing that bugged Stiles about this story in particular wasn’t only the part about no survivors, but how it never said how the curse could be lifted. It bothered him more than he liked to admit, so before it even got to that point, Stiles walked away from the circle of children and his mother. 

Before heading back to work on patching up a roof, Stiles stopped by his cabin, a one-room shack really, to drop off his half-finished carving. He worked on the roof until sundown, when the torches were lit to help guide him through the village to his parents’ home. His mother had hot soup waiting for him, as well as cut up pieces of boar that someone had brought back from a hunt earlier. 

“Where’s Dad?” Stiles asked as his mother stoked the fire. Their cabin was bigger than his, with a hearth and wooden floors, whereas his had hard-packed dirt. 

“Emergency council meeting,” she said, giving him a look. 

“What for?” Stiles asked, interest piqued. 

“Never you mind,” she said, rubbing a palm over his freshly shorn head. “It’s not your business, council goings on. You didn’t want it.”

“Too young,” Stiles pointed out between bites. “Who would want me on the council?”

“You could be, if you put your mind to it.” 

“Do you want me to stay here with you until he returns?” Stiles asked after he finished. She kissed his forehead after she shook her head. 

“No, you go on home. I’ll see you in the morning.” 

There were more villagers out than normal as he made his way towards the edge of the village, where his cabin was. It unnerved him as they whispered as he passed them by. It wasn’t until he passed his best friend, Scott, that he stopped. 

“What’s going on?” Stiles asked him. Scott looked horrified. 

“Haven’t you heard?” Stiles shook his head, hands gesturing for Scott to keep talking. “Wolves; their prints were found in the woods.”

“Wolves?” Stiles asked. “That’s normal.”

“Not just-- they weren’t regular wolves, Stiles,” Scott said, as if that made any sense. “Their paw prints were massive, bigger than my hand,” Scott indicated, holding up his hand. “Word came from nearby, and apparently the wolves are migrating. The village sacrificed someone to the wolves, and their village was spared. They’re holding a council meeting--”

Stiles drowned out the rest of Scott’s explanation as he rushed back to his mother’s cabin, his heartbeat blocking out all other noise as he entered without knocking. His father was home, his face worn and dire. 

“What’s going on?” Stiles asked. “Tell me it isn’t true--”

“Son--”

“It’s true,” his mother stated. 

“You told the story today,” Stiles pointed out. “It’s a _story_.”

“Rooted in truth,” she exclaimed. “They are immortal, and they roam the countryside. We have to appease them. They spared the other village--”

“This is nonsense,” Stiles said. “Dad, you can’t do this.”

“It’s already done,” he said, grim. “The decision will be made tonight.”

“Tonight?” Stiles asked. “That’s-- you need time to think. We don’t even know if they will attack.”

“Argent found the tracks not even a half mile outside of the village; it isn’t safe. Go door to door, son, and have everyone meet in the town center. There will be a bonfire.” With that, Stiles was dismissed. Outside the door, Scott paced as he waited. 

“What’s going on?” Scott asked. “Is it true?”

“Aye,” Stiles said through gritted teeth. “A bonfire’s to be lit. We’re to go door to door and rouse everyone. You go west, I’ll go east.”

“I’ll see you at the bonfire, then,” Scott said as he took off down the road. Most of the houses were already empty, but Stiles stopped at each all the same. By the time he made it to the center of town, the bonfire was lit and his father stood among the other elders on a wooden platform so that everyone could see them. Stiles found a place close to the platform, between Scott and Lydia. Deaton, one of the elders, stepped forward, his voice commanding the village to quiet down. 

“I’m sure you’ve all heard what was found, that the cursed wolves have returned to our woods. It’s been over fifty years since they’ve appeared near our village, and by our oral histories, kept by none other than Elder Stilinski’s wife, a human sacrifice is necessary in order to appease them. We know this to be true, because last month a nearby village performed it and their village remained untouched by the wolf demons. It is now our turn to keep our village from harm. We call upon our untouched youths. Please, step forward,” Deaton said, with a wave of his hand.

Stiles, Scott, and Lydia all exchanged glances. It was to be a virgin, then, unsullied by lust or idle hands. Scott, he knew, wasn’t, for he and Allison were known to sneak off when able. Lydia, too, had been seen with swollen lips and reddened cheeks while leaving Jackson Whittemore’s cabin.

Stiles couldn’t move. He was considered untouched. Sure, he’d danced with Heather at the solstice, kissed her by the bonfire at the equinox, but that didn’t make him a man in the village’s eyes. When Stiles took a step forward, he was among seven others, all of whom had their rite of passage but none wed, touched. He felt all eyes on him, but saw none except that of his father. 

Stiles looked up at the sky as Deaton talked of courage, of self-sacrifice, of the greater good. The moon was full, and not a single cloud was in the sky as Deaton explained how he would determine who the sacrifice would be. Each one of the seven would come forward, their hand extended, blood would be drawn, and from that he would read out whom the village ancestors would choose. 

Searching for his mother in the crowd, Stiles found her, her hands covering her mouth as tears ran down her cheeks. His stomach sank as he walked up to the platform, following the others. He didn’t think Deaton was calling upon their ancestors, he believed that they had already made their choice and that choice was _him_. Stiles stepped forward, his father clasping his hand, slicing down his palm. When he looked his father in the eyes, there were tears in the way. Stiles wanted to run, but he couldn’t as Deaton took hold of his hand, examining it carefully. When Deaton looked into Stiles’ eyes, he only saw darkness. 

Deaton lifted Stiles’ bloodied hand, blood dripping down his arm steadily, covering Deaton’s hand where he held onto his wrist. 

“Our ancestors have chosen our salvation!” There was a mix of cheers and gasps, of Scott shouting ‘No!’ and Stiles’ mother’s cries. Stiles felt nothing as Deaton sliced his own hand, then began drawing symbols on Stiles’ face as he was stripped of his clothes. Tears streaked Stiles’ cheeks as Deaton and the other elders painted him in their blood and his own. Deaton let out a gasp, then turned Stiles’ body so that his back was facing the village. “Our ancestors truly chose correctly, for his back is dotted with the wolf constellation. He was born to be sacrificed for the good of this village.” Deaton’s finger drew lines between the moles of Stiles’ back, indicating the constellation for the village, for the wolves. Stiles couldn’t stop the tears from falling as he caught his mother’s eyes once more.

  
  
art by tsumi

“Wait,” Stiles said, holding his hand against his chest protectively as he was manhandled down the platform. “Don’t I get to say goodbye?” he asked, looking at his mother again. His father’s hand on his shoulder, squeezing it, could only comfort him so much. For a child’s story, it all felt too real. It wasn’t supposed to be anything but that, but he was to be sacrificed.

“They can walk with you,” Deaton said. “There isn’t time.” 

“I’m to walk to my death?” Stiles asked, looking down at his bare form, covered in blood. Deaton only nodded as torches were passed around. Each Elder, in turn, kissed his forehead. He felt numb as he went through the motions, though his mind screamed that he had a life, he would live his life, that this wasn’t the end. 

It wasn’t the end. 

Beside him, his father walked with torch in hand, leading the way as his mother met them. The entire village walked behind them, the elders only two steps behind. 

“Mother, please,” Stiles begged. “Don’t make me do this.”

“I didn’t want it to be you,” she whispered, constantly drying her tears. “But a sacrifice must be made.”

“Use a goat, a cow, a horse-- anything,” Stiles pleaded, looking between the two of them. 

“You have been chosen by the ancestors,” his father stated, as if that mattered. 

“I was chosen by the Elder who dislikes me most,” Stiles hissed loud enough for Deaton to hear. “This is going to be for nothing,” Stiles said. “I’m going to die for no reason.”

“You’re wrong,” his mother explained. “I love you, Stiles. More than anything, but the curse, these wolves will kill us all.” Stiles gritted his teeth as his mother kissed him one last time. His father, too, bade him farewell at the village’s edge. He wasn’t even given a torch to guide his way. 

Deaton stepped closer to him, knife in hand as he grabbed hold of Stiles’ neck. 

“The wolves will come for you at the Rock,” he said, looking into Stiles’ eyes as he plunged the knife into his side. Stiles screamed out in pain, his hand covering the wound as Deaton withdrew it. Blood dripped down skin. “You’ll save us all.” 

Deaton pushed Stiles towards the woods, where he went stumbling. Tears fell as he walked, abandoned not only by his village, but by his family. He was going to die, if not by wolf, then by blood loss. Stiles tripped on a root and fell to the ground, coating himself in dirt that stuck to the blood that covered his body. He was slow to rise, his eyes towards the moon as it shone bright. He closed his eyes, not caring if he bled out where he lay. He shook with anger, with fear as he heard rustling in the brush nearby. Stiles forced himself to his feet. He continued walking, a hand covering his side. He stilled when he entered a clearing: the lake. 

He knew exactly where he was. Looking around, Stiles decided that he would make his own fate. He waded out into the water, waist deep, then began washing off the blood. Blood mixed with water, his wound too deep for the bleeding to stop on its own. Stiles didn’t want to die. He scrubbed his hands over his body, his face. 

Stiles jumped when he heard wolves howling nearby. He turned slowly towards the shore, where four wolves appeared from the tree line. They were massive, bigger than any wolf Stiles had ever seen. The stories were true, then. He really was a sacrifice, this was his end. One of the wolves, the biggest, stepped forward, his nose in the air as he scented it. 

When he howled, the hairs all over Stiles’ body stood on end, goosebumps covered him as the others joined in. Stiles’ entire body shook out of pure fear. As soon as a paw touched the water, the wolf transformed before Stiles’ eyes, into a man just as naked as he.

  
  
artwork by tsumi

The man looked at his own hands, then at the moon as if perplexed at the situation, then back at Stiles again. Witchcraft. Stiles thought back to the story, about how the man could transform because of the moon, but Stiles had always thought it had been the moon that turned him into a wolf, not the other way around.

As the man stepped closer, Stiles went deeper into the water. His eyes were growing heavier by the second from the loss of blood, but he wouldn’t be taken as a sacrifice; human form or no, the man was still a wolf. The man dove into the water, disappearing into the murky depths, making Stiles panic. He couldn’t see, and as he swam out into the water farther, his weakened state became more apparent. As arms grabbed hold of him, Stiles screamed and thrashed as best he could, but it was no use. The man was strong, stronger than Stiles as he brought them both to shore. 

Stiles shivered, his hand grazing over his wound as he lay on his back. He gritted his teeth, ignoring the fact that wolves surrounded him, growling lowly as the gruff man knelt over him, his face scrunched in concern. 

“Don’t--” Stiles said in a whimper as his hand was forced away from the wound. He scrambled in an attempt to push his captor away from him, to no avail. He looked down in shock as he watched the man lay a hand over his wound. With darkened veins, the pain subsided, leaving Stiles numb and exhausted. “Don’t,” he mumbled as he was hoisted into the air. A normal man would have issue with picking up Stiles’ dead weight and walking with him, but this was no normal man. Though a feeling of contentment flowed through him despite his blood that smeared across his captor’s skin, Stiles knew that he was being brought to his death, still. He didn’t have the energy to fight it as his heart rate slowed. Around them, the wolves walked. Stiles watched them, his head lolling to one side. He didn’t realize how far he’d walked away from the village, or the passage of time as he was carried farther into the forest. 

He hissed when he was set down, hands roaming his body, checking his mouth and teeth, searching for bruising as a wolf sniffed at Stiles’ back where he hadn’t wiped the blood off. He should be afraid, what with a wolf breathing down on him, but all he felt was cold. Stiles watched the leader, the only human, as he ground leaves together, making a paste in silence. He ignored Stiles as he worked by the light of the moon. Stiles knew what he was doing, and found himself to be surprised that he knew of medicine, herbal remedies. It showed Stiles that this man wasn’t savage, that he was smart enough to know how to make a poultice for Stiles’ stab wound. When he applied it, Stiles bit his lip to hold back the pain that returned. 

“Ouch,” Stiles said, his fingers digging into the dirt around him. One of the wolves sat by his side, watching as the poultice was applied. The others seemingly stood watch, alert to their surroundings. 

“Do you talk?” Stiles asked, looking into his eyes for the first time. They reflected red in the moonlight, his stubbled jaw clenching as he glared at Stiles. “Are you going to kill me?”

“Does it look like I’m killing you?” he asked, his voice cracking from nonuse. Stiles looked away, knowing full well not to mess with a wolf. “I haven’t-- I haven’t talked in some time.” 

“Do you have a name?” Stiles asked. 

“Derek,” he said, putting his hand over Stiles’ wound once more, the pain ebbing away slowly. Stiles watched, his mouth hanging open. 

“What-- what witchery is this?” Stiles asked, his eyes wide as he looked into Derek’s. Derek pulled his hand away, looking to the ground with a furrowed brow. 

“It isn’t _witchcraft_ ,” Derek growled, his eyes flashing a piercing blue. Stiles yelped when Derek looked at him. He hadn’t meant to offend. “I’m no witch.”

“I didn’t mean it,” Stiles said, panicking. “I meant only that I don’t understand--”

“I can take pain, you’re in a lot of pain,” Derek said, leaning towards Stiles, getting into his personal space and inhaling, sniffing him. Stiles froze, his body shaking. “I can smell your fear.” 

“I-- my name is Stiles,” he supplied. Derek huffed, his breath hot against Stiles’ neck. “I’m yours, I mean, my village gave me over-- I’m to be my village’s sacrifice,” Stiles blurted out as he felt sharp teeth graze his neck, Derek’s hand on him once more, leeching his pain. 

At the mention of his village, Derek stilled. They locked eyes for a moment, then Derek looked to the moon. 

“Time is lost to me,” Derek admitted, his eyes narrowing. “But I know this area well. Why were you sacrificed to _me_?” 

“So you wouldn’t attack our village,” Stiles stammered, looking around at all of the wolves. They were now surrounding him as if listening. Derek lifted an eyebrow as he, too, looked to the wolves. “I was forced out, stabbed, and sent into the woods for you.” 

“We don’t kill innocent humans,” Derek sneered, looking Stiles up and down. “And we don’t demand _sacrifices_.” 

“The stories--”

“Are lies,” Derek said through clenched teeth. He was still on top of Stiles, sharp teeth showing in the moonlight. Around him, the wolves growled. “Surely they don’t know the truth, or they’d leave us alone.” 

“What do you mean?” Stiles asked, unsure. Derek looked up at the moon again, where it was lower in the sky, soon to set. 

“There isn’t time,” Derek said, his eyes darting from Stiles’ eyes to his mouth then back again. “The moon is setting.” 

“What does that have to do with--”

“Do not stray from my side,” Derek said, putting his hand on the back of Stiles’ neck. “The forest is dangerous.” 

“Derek, I-- Derek?” 

Before him, Derek shifted back into a wolf. Without a warning, Derek howled. The others followed suit, making the hair on the back of Stiles’ neck stand on end. 

“Why did you change--” Stiles looked up at the darkened sky, wondering if Derek’s shift came with the moon. Without making a noise, Derek pressed up against Stiles, as did the other wolves, circling around him. Scared, Stiles’s heart rate picked up until he realized that they were getting ready to sleep, keeping him warm with their body heat. Stiles put his head down on Derek, his fingers clutching at his fur. He was cold, but as the minutes wore on, he could feel their warmth. He didn’t think he’d be able to fall asleep, but as the sun began to rise, his eyelids became too heavy to ignore.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was waiting on tsumi to post this chapter because of her art, but she's sick and promises to update this week with the art for it! When she gives it to me, I'll edit the chapter with it! 
> 
> Our plan is to post the chapters on Sundays!   
> <3

When Stiles awoke, there were a pair of trousers laying on top of him, along with a too big shirt. Carefully, Stiles stood up, dressing himself. He ripped part of his shirt in order to make a bandage for his wound. By the time he wrapped himself up and tied his shirt up properly, cinching it at his wrists and collar, he realized that he was alone. Barefoot, he walked through the woods. He found a broken tree branch that was suitable for a walking stick, since his side ached with each step he took. He held onto his side with one hand as he held onto the walking stick with the other, wincing as he slipped down the steep decline. Able to catch himself before he fell, Stiles groaned. 

Part of him wondered if he should call for Derek, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to. What he needed to do was find his village. If Derek and his pack weren’t going to kill him, or his village, there wasn’t really any reason for him to be away. He could go back to his life in the village, and all would be forgotten. By the look of the sun in the sky, it was just past midday. Stiles walked north, the direction his village was in. 

He was hyper aware of all noises in the forest, each rustle of underbrush, every gust of wind. His feet were sore from stepping on twigs and rocks, his side smarting from walking around. He sat by a rock in order to rest, wiping away at the sweat that accumulated on his brow. He closed his eyes as he caught his breath. When he opened them, a wolf sat in front of him with its head tilted to one side. Stiles gripped his walking stick, ready to fight, until he realized it wasn’t attacking him, wasn’t even in a defensive stance. 

“Are you one of Derek’s?” Stiles asked. He couldn’t tell wolves apart, aside from the fact that it was bigger than a normal one. For all he knew, it could be Derek himself. When the wolf’s eyes flashed red, Stiles knew it was, in fact, Derek. He found himself sighing with relief as he reached a hand outwards towards him. “Hey, I didn’t know where you went.” 

Derek let Stiles run his fingers through his fur, but turned his head away when his hand got near Derek’s head. His fur was thick, coarser than he thought it would be, but had been comfortable the night before. 

“I know you said not to leave, but what was I supposed to do? Wait for you to come back? You left me alone.” 

Derek turned towards him, showing Stiles his teeth. 

“Did you bring me these?” Stiles asked, indicating to his clothes. “How did you get them?” Derek huffed, and Stiles supposed that was the only answer he was going to get while Derek was a wolf. Stiles’ stomach grumbled as he attempted to stand, getting a look from Derek as his ears twitched. “Any chance of some food?” 

Derek started off back up the way Stiles came from, stopping after a few steps as if waiting for Stiles to join him. Stiles bit his lip, looking downwards in the direction of his village. Derek jerked his head, pointing towards the way he wanted to go. Stiles groaned as he used the walking stick to get to Derek. Once he did, he held onto Derek’s fur for balance. Together, they walked uphill back towards the camp. Using the walking stick and Derek for support, Stiles didn’t feel as strained. 

When they arrived back, Stiles found their campsite full of things. That’s where the wolves went; scavenging. Not just for random things, but things for Stiles. There was another shirt, a pair of boots, and food that looked like it was taken from someone’s house. Stiles sat down on a rock, exhausted from his trek up and down the mountainside. One of the wolves brought over the pair of boots, putting them down at Stiles’ feet. Stiles pet them in thanks, finding himself at ease around them. Knowing that Derek wasn’t an unthinking monster changed his views of them, knowing that they weren’t just wolves, but people as well. He didn’t put them on, though, because first he had to clean off his feet which were cut up from the forest floor. 

Stiles used the spare shirt, taking his time by pulling out splinters and brushing off the dirt and grime. He needed water, but he didn’t know of any streams nearby. He slipped on the boots, then searched through the food that was stolen for him. He thought about how there must be a village nearby, since there was bread that was still warm. Stiles held it in his hands, then pressed the bread against his face, smelling it. He was starving. 

It had teeth marks in it, from where one of the wolves carried it, along with some slobber, but Stiles wiped it away, too hungry to care. He devoured the bread, not even thinking about offering any to the wolves that brought it to him.

“I’m so sorry,” Stiles said as he took off his shirt. “I didn’t share.” Derek snorted, shaking his head as he turned away from Stiles. He looked to the wolf who sat next to him. “You already ate, didn’t you?” 

They nodded. 

“Well then,” Stiles said with a smile. “Then I’m not sorry.” He began unwrapping his bandage, blanching at the smell as he took the salve off of the wound. The skin around it was bruised, but he wasn’t sure besides that, he was no expert. What he needed was water. 

“Is there water nearby?” Stiles asked. He was thirsty, too, his mouth parched after eating the loaf of bread. He didn’t want to think about how he probably should have rationed it. 

Derek lead him away from their camp, once more with Stiles’ hand in his fur. He couldn’t stop looking down at his side, where it was starting to bleed again. They came across a small stream where Stiles knelt down, bringing water to his mouth by cupping his hands, drinking until he was once more full. Derek sat on his haunches by his side, watching, as Stiles cleaned his dirty bandage. He used the wet cloth to clean not only his wound, but he also scrubbed his feet in the stream. Stiles hummed to himself as he did it, slipping his boots back on as he looked around at the plants around them. 

“Do you think you could find the plants you used last night?” Stiles asked him. He really should have paid better attention to Scott’s mother’s lessons. Derek huffed, pressing his nose to Stiles’ neck before he trotted off, leaving Stiles alone. 

Stiles ripped the bloodied shirt that he’d used to clean his feet for more bandaging as he waited for Derek to return. He looked up to the sun, wondering if his family thought him dead. The thought weighed heavy in his mind until Derek appeared with leaves in his mouth that he put down on Stiles’ lap. Before Stiles used a rock to grind them, he washed them off in the stream, giving Derek a look as he did it. 

Derek’s attention moved from Stiles to their surroundings, then back again, his ears moving every time he heard something off into the woods. Once Stiles made his version of the salve, he applied it, then rewrapped the bandage haphazardly. Derek had done a better job of it the night before, and by the way he was eyeing Stiles, he thought that himself, but it would have to do. 

“I wish I had a waterskin,” Stiles grumbled. “And my knife.” Derek’s ears flattened at the mention of a weapon. “Not to use on you guys,” Stiles supplied as he stood up, hissing as he did so. He felt so weak, but he supposed he’d lost quite a bit of blood. “To whittle with. I’m going to get rather bored, you know?” Stiles said as they began their short trek back to camp. 

When they got back, Stiles was surprised to find even more things for him. 

“Where are you guys getting this stuff?” Stiles asked when he picked up a waterskin, mostly full, so he didn’t even have to go back to the stream, yet. There was more food, dried meats and more bread, this time small rolls in a bundle like it was taken from someone who thought it could be their lunch. “How close by is a village?” Stiles asked them, looking at every one of the wolves. They exchanged looks with each other until Derek growled. 

He sat down by Stiles resolutely, pushing the pile of supplies towards him. Stiles looked through it, smiling to himself when he saw that there was a bedroll, a pair of damp socks, and a cloak that was also freshly washed. 

“Thanks,” he said as it finally set in that he wasn’t going anywhere. He was to stay with them, at least until he felt better. As it was, he couldn’t run, he couldn’t get far and they probably had his scent, and would follow him. He looked to Derek, reaching his hand out but not touching him, waiting for Derek to lean into it. Derek looked away, but scooted closer, allowing Stiles to pet him. 

“Are we staying here for the night?” Stiles asked, looking at the setting sun. Derek nodded slightly, sighing. Stiles didn’t know how they communicated, but one of the other wolves sat by his side as Derek left him, a brown one that was smaller than the others, so Stiles decided to roll out his bedroll. With the sun’s disappearance, the temperature dropped. He was glad that he had the cloak, at least. When the wolves returned, their jaws were bloodied, and one of the wolves had food for the one that had been left to watch over him. 

The moon was bright overhead once more, but Stiles wasn’t tired. He had a stick that he drew in the dirt with. He drew a bonfire as he thought about his village, a wolf, then a crude stick figure of his mother; he’d never been one for drawing the human form. 

“Do you have names?” He asked the wolves. He wished there was a way for him to find out as they nodded their heads. He looked up at the moon again, sighing. “Can you change back tonight?” Stiles asked Derek, who shook his head. 

“Is it only on the full moon, then?” Stiles asked, his voice catching in his throat. He didn’t want to be alone for a full month without talking to anyone. Hopefully by then, he’d be healed and back in his village. 

By the time Stiles fell asleep that night, he was in the middle of a pile of wolves once more, his arm tucked up against Derek’s side. 

This time when he woke, he wasn’t alone. Derek slept by his side; the steady rise and fall of his body let Stiles know that he hadn’t roused when Stiles awoke. It was barely past dawn, and there was dew on Stiles’ cloak as he moved. As soon as he sat up, Derek’s eyes opened, his head tilting towards Stiles, watching him stand up. 

“I have to pee,” Stiles said as he stretched. Derek closed his eyes, giving Stiles permission to go off on his own. 

Stiles didn’t go far, leaning heavily on his walking stick. He felt stiff and sore. By the time he returned to Derek, he was sweating. Stiles wiped at his face as he knelt down on his bedroll, panting. Anxious, he began stripping down, revealing his bandages that were red from blood. Stiles looked to Derek, worrying at his bottom lip. 

“Do you think it’s infected?” Stiles asked as he began unwrapping it. Derek came forward, sniffing at his side. As the bandages fell away, Derek licked at the wound. Stiles pushed his snout away, making a face. “Ew, don’t-- that’s disgusting.” Derek licked him again, then again, practically pushing Stiles down onto his back. It tickled, making Stiles involuntarily laugh despite how worried he was about getting sick. 

“I should probably let it air out, right?” Stiles asked, despite knowing Derek couldn’t answer him. Derek sat on his haunches, looking towards the tree line, sighing. The woods were quiet around them, with the other wolves gone. Stiles couldn’t believe how sore he was, helpless. He hated feeling so worthless. Wondering why Derek hadn’t left him, Stiles got his attention by putting his hand over Derek’s paw. 

“Why didn’t you kill me?” Stiles asked him. Derek looked down at him, his head tilted. “I was injured.” Derek huffed, pressing his nose against Stiles’ cheek. Stiles wouldn’t get an answer from Derek, not one that he could fully understand, until the next full moon. He wasn’t even sure he’d still be around Derek then, not if he could help it. He wanted to go home. 

When the other wolves arrived, Stiles sat up, grinning as they came over with their findings. One of them had a knife, which Stiles immediately took out of its sheath to admire. It was a nice dagger, with a leather wrapped hilt, perfect size for wood carving, as well as self-defense. Stiles was so happy, he didn’t notice a box that another one of the wolves put down beside him. Upon examining it, he hugged the wolf in thanks. It was flint and steel; he could make a fire. 

“I’m going to gather wood,” Stiles said, standing up. He looked to Derek as he brushed off his pants. “Can you guys help? Maybe catch a rabbit?” 

Derek signalled for the other wolves to help, while he stayed by Stiles’ side as he gathered kindling. 

“I’m going to make a fire, and I’m going to have cooked rabbit,” Stiles sang to himself. “It’s going to be so good.” He found Derek’s companionship, although silent, to be warm and inviting. He didn’t feel like a prisoner, or that he was unwelcome around the pack, but like he was being included in it. He couldn’t be sure, but the way the others looked at him made him feel like Derek didn’t usually bring people into his fold. 

By the time Stiles had the fire going, dinner was brought to him. The wolves shared theirs, while Stiles took his time skinning and cooking his. It tasted amazing to his near empty stomach. Close to nightfall, Stiles sat by the fire with his legs crossed as he whittled, humming to himself one of the songs his mother taught him that sang of a tale that had been passed down for generations. Beside him, Derek laid down with his eyes closed, his ears moving every so often when there was a noise nearby. Stiles felt safe with Derek. 

As Stiles became tired, he let the fire die down, making himself comfortable between the wolves, curling up with them. He felt like he’d barely fallen asleep before he was jolted awake by the wolves moving abruptly. The fire was nothing more than embers, with clouds covering the light of the moon, leaving him in almost pitch blackness. Alone, Stiles pulled on his shirt and cloak, not knowing what was happening as he heard growling. He held his breath in order to keep from screaming as he felt a tug on his cloak, one of the wolves leading him into the woods. Stiles left everything behind, his walking stick, his supplies. Luckily, his dagger was strapped around his thigh so he had that, at least. 

“What’s going on?” Stiles hissed. He heard a twig snap nearby, his guard leaving him within the blink of an eye. He could hear fighting, growling and the snapping of teeth. His heart felt as though it could beat out of his chest at any moment as he tried desperately to see what was going on. He found a tree to lean against, his knife out at the ready as he held onto his side defensively. The only thing he could hear was the sound of his own breathing, as well as the wolves. 

“Get him,” Stiles heard from behind him unexpectedly. Someone managed to grab ahold of him, but they hadn’t taken into account that Stiles could be armed. Stiles slashed his dagger across their arm, then pushed them away as he took off towards the commotion. Another man took Stiles down, grappling him to the ground, forcing Stiles’ hands above his head where he banged Stiles’ wrist against a rock repeatedly until he let go of the dagger. The weapon was turned on him, pressing against his neck as hot, disgusting breath bared down on him. “Give us your money.” 

Stiles struggled against him, trying not to breathe in the acrid breath. 

“Don’t have any,” Stiles wheezed. 

“Too bad,” the man said, pressing harder against Stiles’ neck with the sharp dagger. Stiles swore the blade broke the skin as he felt hot liquid sliding down his neck. Stiles closed his eyes as he prepared to die. He had already used up his luck on finding Derek and his pack; he didn’t expect to get anything more from the gods. So, when the man was dragged away from him screaming because a wolf took hold of his leg, Stiles let out a sigh of relief. The screams died down as teeth ripped his throat out. Stiles held onto his own throat, the feel of blood on his skin making his stomach churn. 

Derek appeared by his side with blood on his muzzle, and began to lick at Stiles’ neck. 

“I’m okay,” Stiles said, rubbing his sore wrist. He’d almost died, again. “Are you guys?” 

Derek nodded, but didn’t stop his ministrations of cleaning Stiles. Stiles had half a mind to push Derek off of him, but he couldn’t find it in him to do so. Instead, he placed his forehead against Derek, effectively getting Derek to stop. 

“What happened? Did they sneak up on us?” Stiles asked after a time. The others gathered around them, licking their own wounds and checking Stiles over. Of course, Derek couldn’t answer him. Stiles couldn’t get back to sleep, knowing a man was dead nearby. Derek’s words the other night resonated with him as he waited for the sun to rise, ‘I don’t kill innocent people’. 

When it was light enough for Stiles to see, he searched for his dagger, finding it on the ground nearby. There were five men, all dead, spread around their camp. Stiles and his companions dragged them into a pile, where Stiles left them to go into the woods. He had nothing to dig with, and he wasn’t going to set them on fire for fear of burning the forest down. He packed his things, made a makeshift pack in order to hold it all, then followed Derek where he led them away. 

They came across a stream, where Stiles stopped to rest and refill his waterskin. Derek didn’t let him rest for long, though, forcing him to his feet by pulling on his cloak with his teeth. They walked until Stiles couldn’t bare it any longer, with the sun low in the sky. That night, Stiles slept soundly, exhausted from the day. 

The next day, they traveled farther. Stiles had no idea which way his village was, now. The wolves seemed to be nomadic, not having their own territory but moving every day. Stiles wasn’t used to it, and found that his body couldn’t handle it, not when he wasn’t completely healed. After another day’s journey, Stiles refused to get out of bed. 

“No more walking,” Stiles said when Derek tried to push him. Stiles shoved his snout, forcing him back. “We’re staying here.” Derek growled at him, and Stiles growled back. “No more.” 

Derek sat, pointedly not looking at Stiles. 

“I need rest,” Stiles explained. “And I’m out of food,” he complained. “I need to find berries.” He needed to, but that required moving, which he didn’t want to do. He wrapped himself in his cloak, wishing for his shack with the thatched roof and his bed made of straw and his feather pillow. Oh, how he wanted that pillow. “I need a roof over my head.” 

Derek walked away from him, seemingly done with hearing about Stiles’ complaints. Eventually, Stiles went in search for food. When he returned, Derek sat waiting for him with two dead rabbits. Stiles’ heart lept at the sight. Rabbit would be better than the meager amount of berries that he was able to scavenge. He made a fire and roasted the rabbit, sharing pieces with each of the wolves, who hovered nearby. Apparently they liked it cooked as much as he did. 

They didn’t leave the campsite for a week, letting Stiles recover.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you thank you for subscribing/commenting/leaving kudos! it really means a lot.

As the weeks went by, Stiles fell into a daily routine. The campsite they made was near a stream, where he cleaned his stab wound and bandaged it until it started to scar, pink and tender to the touch. He gathered firewood, remaining by Derek’s side. He hadn’t seen another human since the night they were ambushed, but he was vigilant, as were the wolves. The full moon was approaching, and with it, Stiles’ excitement to be able to talk with Derek once more. 

He’d made a tent, of sorts, against a tree with his cloak, his bedroll beneath it. He didn’t need the cloak at night, not with the body heat the wolves provided him. They hadn’t gone in search of more supplies, which let Stiles know that they weren’t near any villages, that they were in the middle of the woods, truly alone. Stiles felt safer that way, as if humans were the ones to be feared and not the wolves he traveled with. 

They provided him with food to eat, and entertainment as they played, fighting each other in their down time. Stiles took to carving them. The wolves were each distinct, with personalities that made them stand apart from each other. Derek was obviously the leader. He didn’t play with the others but sat by Stiles’ side, sitting up straight as he watched. One of the wolves, the next largest, was subdued but powerful, who only played if the smallest wolf tugged on his ear until he gave in. The only female, she had a presence unlike the others. She liked playing with Stiles, pinning him to the ground, or bringing him a stick for him to throw as he carved. The third was quiet but had an attitude about him. He didn’t care for Stiles, as far as Stiles could tell, growling at him, keeping his distance. Of all of them, Stiles felt least safe around him, but he knew that Derek wouldn’t let him be harmed. 

He didn’t know why he gave Derek so much trust, but it was there all the same. 

The day of the full moon, the clouds rolled in, threatening rain. Stiles packed his things up for the first time in weeks. They needed to find shelter before the storm broke, before nightfall. Two of them scouted ahead as Stiles trailed behind, picking up wood for a fire as they went. 

They found a cave, where Stiles stowed his things. He immediately searched for as much wood as he could gather as the others went on a hunt, leaving him alone for the first time in weeks. By the time he felt the first signs of rain, he was making his way back to the cave. It started as a drizzle, but quickly turned into a downpour. Drenched, Stiles had to peel off his clothes, since he left his cloak in the cave. He started a fire with the dry wood, putting the wet pieces nearby to hopefully dry them out, along with his wet clothes. He had a spare shirt, ripped up for bandaging, that he used in the meantime. Thunder struck, and lightning flashed through the cave, making Stiles jump when he saw the forms of the wolves enter, shaking off the rain. 

“You guys scared me,” Stiles said, his voice echoing around the cave. The rain definitely didn’t look like it was going to give up anytime soon, leaving them stranded for the time being. Stiles made sure he was covered, his cheeks reddening as Derek sat down by his side. There was still time before the sun set, and Stiles hoped by then his clothes would be dry enough to put back on. Stiles sat up straight, his eyes wide. “Clothes, you don’t have clothes,” he said, his voice cracking as he looked around. Derek moved his head and shoulders as if shrugging; he didn’t seem to mind. The others didn’t look stricken, either, which made Stiles blush all the more. They were used to the naked form, whereas Stiles was not. 

The night he’d been sacrificed he had no choice in the matter, but now, he did. Stiles thought about Derek, shifting from wolf to human, his skin blemish free, with hair on his chest and stubble on his cheeks. Stiles turned his attention towards carving a fox. He’d seen many lately in the forest, bounding around, playful when not hunting. He carved it, then tossed it into the fire, since he didn’t have storage to carry his carvings around with him, except for the wolves. 

When the sun set, Stiles felt a shift in the air around him. He began cooking two pheasants that were brought to him earlier, so that when the moon rose they would all have something to eat together. He tried to ignore the feeling of unease that crept into his mind. Thunder rumbled in the distance, alerting Stiles that the storm wasn’t over with yet. A few seconds later, a flash of lightning lit up the cave. It, too, was followed by a low grumbling clap of thunder that lasted almost ten seconds. 

“I’m glad we found shelter,” Stiles said, mostly to himself as he turned the pheasant on it’s spit. He pulled his legs in close, hugging them against his chest as he rested his chin on his knee, frowning as he looked over at the napping wolves. “I’d hate to be out in that weather.”

He wasn’t sure what time the moon would rise, so when fur turned into bare flesh before his eyes, he let out a surprised yelp. There was a girl, with long, tangled blonde hair sitting next to him with a smirk. 

“It’s been so long since I’ve shifted,” she said, her voice cracking from disuse. “I’ve almost forgotten what it felt like.” Stiles gulped as he tried not to be rude by looking at her bare figure. He shrugged off his shirt, offering it to her. She looked at it oddly, her brow furrowed. “You want me to cover myself?” she asked, flipping her hair over her shoulder, revealing her breasts plain as day. Stiles reddened as he nodded his head. She smiled, taking the shirt from him, but put it in her lap, her hands running over the fabric. Stiles averted his eyes, searching the cave. They landed on Derek, who stood over the fire, as naked as he’d been the night of Stiles’ sacrifice. Facing away from Stiles, Derek stretched, his ass clenching slightly as he reached for the ceiling. 

Stiles decided to look at the fire instead. 

“What’re your names?” Stiles asked eventually, his gaze meeting each of the wolves. 

“I’m... Erica,” she said, hesitating. “It’s been so long since I’ve told anyone that, I’d almost forgotten.” 

“Boyd.”

“Isaac.” 

Stiles looked to Derek, even though he already knew his name. Derek remained silent as he crossed his arms. Stiles supposed he’d have to get used to their bare forms, seeing as Erica still hadn’t made a move to put the shirt on that he offered her. Instead, she seemed preoccupied with the fire, and the feel of the fabric itself. 

“Well, it’s nice to finally meet you all,” Stiles said, belatedly. Isaac laughed as Boyd lifted an eyebrow. “I mean, I know you, we’ve been travelling together just--”

“No need for formality,” Boyd said with a wave of his hand. “We know you well enough by now.” 

“I’ve made dinner,” Stiles supplied, uneasy about Derek’s silence. He bit his lower lip as they all sat by the fire, Erica not moving from her place next to Stiles. She’d moved on to admiring Stiles’ carvings. 

“These have such likeness to them,” she said in awe. “Is this one me?” she asked. 

“I believe so,” Stiles supplied as he watched the others begin to pick at the food. Boyd took a big chunk of it with his teeth, while Isaac tore at it with his fingers, despite how hot it was. Derek handed Stiles a leg. 

“Before they devour it,” Derek said, not even looking Stiles in the eye. Stiles wasn’t sure why Derek was suddenly acting like he didn’t know him, or trust him, but he wouldn’t spend what little time he had with human interaction moping about it. 

“So, tell me about this curse,” Stiles said after awhile. They all looked at each other, then to Derek who shifted uncomfortably in his place, his back stiff. “Why only the full moon? And Erica said she hadn’t shifted in a long time, why not last month?”

When it looked as though Derek wasn’t going to answer, Erica rolled her eyes, turning towards Stiles. 

“We _can_ change on a full moon, but we haven’t in a long, long time. We don’t like to.” 

“Why?” Stiles asked, looking at each of them once more, his eyes remaining on Derek. “Why don’t you want to be human?” 

“Because to be human is to have memories, and memories bring pain. Every time we are human, we are forced to live with what happened,” Derek said through gritted teeth, his eyes flashing. Startled, Stiles held his breath, too scared to ask what Derek meant by it. “Before you came to us, I hadn’t shifted in what was probably years to you. Time passes differently for us than for you.” 

“But you look young, my age,” Stiles mumbled. Erica looked no more than a young maiden, and Isaac as well. They couldn’t be older than he. Derek smiled, though it was more self deprecating more than anything. 

“We no longer count the moons,” Boyd supplied as he looked towards the fire, its flames casting shadows across his face in a way that gave Stiles an eerie feeling, a chill down his spine. “But do not believe for a moment that we are as young as you.” 

“You said that I came to you,” Stiles said, turning his attention back to Derek. “What do you mean?” 

“He means that, like the rest of us, you came to be with him,” Erica said. 

“You mean, you three were sacrifices, too?” Stiles asked, wide-eyed. “You were alone?” Stiles asked Derek. 

Instead of answering, Derek looked at Erica, then Boyd and Isaac. The four of them were silent for a moment, before Erica put her hand on Stiles’ shoulder. 

“We are in mourning,” she said. “The day before you came to us, we lost two companions.” 

“You did?” Stiles asked. 

“My sisters,” Derek said through gritted teeth. “A neighboring village set up traps. You talk of sacrifice, but you don’t know what humans do to us.” Stiles shook with fear as Derek stood, pacing around the fire as his hands turned into claws, his face morphing grotesquely before Stiles’ very eyes. “Your village would do the same.” 

“No,” Stiles said, his chest constricting. “My village--”

“Stabbed you and sent you out to where the beasts could have their way with you,” Derek growled, now crouching face to face with Stiles, his eyes glowing as he snarled. “They’d kill us, just as they killed you in attempt to keep us away.” 

“They’re scared,” Stiles supplied. 

“Their superstitions and tales have been twisted,” Derek hissed, his hand on Stiles’ throat, claws pricking his skin. “There was no real human sacrifice,” Derek said, his claws fading back to blunt nails as his grip on Stiles’ throat loosened, his face returning to normal. “You asked if I was alone: I wasn’t.” Derek looked Stiles in the eye before he averted them, releasing his grip on Stiles’ throat completely. 

“Then tell me what really happened,” Stiles said, his voice trembling. “And why did you save me, why not kill me?” 

Boyd grunted as Isaac shook his head, tossing another piece of wood into the fire. Erica still had the wooden figurine in her hand, turning it as she looked down at it. 

“What really happened,” Derek said as he looked into the fire, standing up straight, completely exposed, “is that my village was burned to the ground for no reason except fear of the unknown.” 

“I don’t understand, my mother’s story--”

“Is a lie,” Derek said, his voice heated. “I do not know the story that you speak of, but I know the ones that my pack once heard. They, too, were so called sacrifices, like you, but they did not fare as well as you have. They had to be turned.” 

“Turned?” Stiles asked, looking at all of them. “You mean--”

“My village drug me out by my hair,” Erica said, a finger wrapping idly around a tendrel. “I’d been stabbed like you, but wasn’t found until I was almost dead.” 

“I was beaten,” Isaac said, staring at no one as he sighed, crossing his arms. “Then hung up like an animal outside my village like a prize.” 

“My blood was spilt in my village,” Boyd said, his voice barely above a whisper. Stiles thought about how they’d cut him, stripped him naked in the town square. “It was smeared across every door and window before I was brought to a rock and left for dead.” 

“Fear is a powerful thing,” Derek said after silence filled the caved. His words echoed off the walls, making Stiles hug his legs against his chest. “It makes people do things they normally wouldn’t do, like give a son over to monsters.” Stiles gulped. He didn’t want to think of his parents like that, or his friends. Scott hadn’t wanted Stiles to go, but his parent’s hadn’t stopped the elders from doing it. Stiles didn’t realize he was crying until he started wiping away the tears. 

“All it takes is one panicked militant bastard with a pitch fork, and suddenly your entire life is gone and you’re on the run for no reason except that a girl from a nearby village liked you,” Derek spat. 

“So that part is true,” Stiles said. “That you fell in love.” Derek sneered at him. 

“No,” Derek said, his face showing the disgust he obviously felt. “It’s true I met her in the woods, but I did not feel for her as she felt for me. Her advances shocked me, but what shocked me even more was her refusal when I told her I adored another.” Derek stared off into the darkness of the cave as he recalled his past. “It was so long ago, now, but I remember the slap to the face she gave me.” He put his hand to his face, rubbing it against his stubbled cheek. “My eyes shifted, for a moment, and that was all it took. She ran, of course. That night, the men came with pitchforks.” 

“I don’t understand,” Stiles whispered. “You didn’t do anything.” 

Derek laughed. 

“She’d told them that I’d had my way with her, soiled her, ravaged her,” Derek sneered. “I hadn’t so much as touched a woman. Had never lain with one, or kissed one. I’d seen one bare as Erica is now, but that has nothing to do with sex,” Derek said, giving Erica a look. “Just as me standing here has nothing to do with it.” 

“But the curse, surely--”

“Truth matters not when a witch seeks revenge,” Derek said, shaking his head. “The night grows late, and we’ve but tonight to discuss other matters with you.” 

“Such as?” Stiles asked, unsure of what could be more important than Derek finishing his story. 

“Such as, are you to stay with us as you are, or do you join us in brotherhood,” Derek said. The implication was not lost on Stiles as he shrunk in on himself. “This is the first time I’ve come across someone who wasn’t at death’s door. You are vulnerable as a human, weak.”

“I’m not weak,” Stiles said through gritted teeth. 

“You cannot defend yourself,” Isaac pointed out. 

“Yes, I can,” Stiles said defensively. “I don’t want to be like you,” Stiles said. “I don’t want to become something else, I want to be human.” 

“Very well,” Derek said, his hands clenched. “The choice is yours to make.” 

“What if-- what if I want to go back?” Stiles asked. 

“Back where?” Erica asked. “Your village sacrificed you, you’re dead. You can’t go back.”

“What if I did?” Stiles asked, biting his lip. “What if I told them that you saved me, instead? That you aren’t monsters. If you’re cursed, perhaps this could break it.”

“There is no breaking it,” Derek said, his voice booming through the cave. “The pull of the moon has become too much, and I fear the curse has become stronger in time instead of weaker.” 

“What do you mean?” Stiles asked, worried. 

“He means the longer we are wolves, the more we become them,” Erica said, grinning. “Our humanity has begun to fade. Even I feel it, and I was the last bitten.” 

“The moon wants us to remain wolves, but it is the only day we can become human. It’s a test: do we remember who we were, or do we become the wolf we want to be,” Boyd stated. “We’ve chosen the wolf.” 

“You said it yourselves,” Stiles said, standing up. “You chose the wolf, so you chose to make the curse stronger. The less human you become, the farther away you get from breaking it.” 

“To be human is to be petty, traitorous, and I don’t want it,” Derek said with narrowed eyes. “I’d rather be a wolf than go through betrayal again. A pack doesn’t harm one another.” 

“You can be a pack without fully being wolves,” Stiles murmured. “Like how you were with your village, right? You weren’t wolves, then.” 

“No, but that is the past,” Derek said. “And the past is gone. You want to remain human, so be it. You want to go home? We can take you home. I’m not keeping you here against your will.” 

Stiles had conflicting emotions. He wanted to go home to his family, to his friends, but he felt as though he shouldn’t leave his pack, either. One by one, the others turned back into wolves. Erica left the shirt Stiles offered her in a pile as she curled up next to Boyd and Isaac, leaving Stiles and Derek alone. 

Derek sat down next to Stiles, sighing as he rubbed his hands over his face. 

“I had no intention of bringing you back to a village that cast you out,” Derek admitted after a long silence. Stiles had been poking at the dying fire with a stick, his chin on his knee. “And I hadn’t-- I didn’t want to waste this time with you by speaking so.” 

“How had you intended on spending it, then?” Stiles asked, unable to look away from Derek’s face, his lips. Derek’s eyes weren’t on Stiles’ but his mouth. Derek licked his lips, then let out another sigh. 

“Things are easier as a wolf,” Derek said, seemingly off topic. 

“Such as?” Stiles asked, confused. 

“Emotions as a wolf are primal, distinct. You don’t have jealousy, per se, but possessiveness, a keen sense of wanting to protect what is yours,” Derek said as he too, began stabbing at the fire with a stick. Stiles watched as Derek’s arm flexed with each movement. “Loyalty, the feeling of pack takes over all else.” 

“Why are you telling me this?” Stiles asked. 

“Because I feel these things for you,” Derek stated, dropping the stick. “I felt it not only the night that the thieves came, but the night by the lake.” Stiles held his breath at Derek’s confession. “You-- there is something about you, that I’ve allowed myself to engulf myself in your scent. I’ve brought others into my pack, but I must confess that they did not give me the pull that I feel for you now.” 

“Feel for me?” Stiles asked, chancing a glance at the other wolves who were seemingly asleep. Derek grabbed Stiles’ chin, turning his attention back to Derek but all Stiles could think about how gentle the gesture was compared to earlier when Derek had been incensed. 

“I do not wish for you to leave my side,” Derek said, his breath hot against Stiles’ skin as they inched closer. Derek’s nose brushed up against Stiles’ cheek, making Stiles shudder. “Stay with us,” Derek pleaded as his lips dragged across Stiles’ earlobe. Stiles moaned as he clung to Derek’s arm as if falling forwards. Derek buried his face against Stiles’ neck as his arms wrapped around Stiles. 

“I will,” Stiles managed to say as his hands cupped Derek’s face. “I didn’t know you felt as I did. I’d waited for the full moon, you needed to to shift back.” Stiles gulped at his own forwardness, but had no time to hesitate before Derek’s lips were on his. His first kiss, and it belongs to a wolf. Stiles’ breath caught as Derek slipped his tongue into Stiles’ mouth, guiding and teaching Stiles as the kiss deepened. Derek pulled Stiles into his lap, where Stiles could feel how much their kissing affected Derek. He, too, felt his pants become tighter. Embarrassed, Stiles found himself slowing down until he was able to put his head down on Derek’s shoulder. “Do not leave me,” Stiles whispered. 

“I do as the moon commands,” Derek confessed. “And it is setting.” Stiles bit his lip, wanting to protest but he knew it was no use. 

“Can we go somewhere safe?” Stiles asked. “I want to build a home.” 

“I will take you somewhere safe,” Derek promised, kissing Stiles once more before turning back into a wolf. When the sun rose, Stiles found himself curled up next to Derek, his fingers clutching at his fur, wishing for the next full moon.


	4. Chapter 4

For the first time in his life, Stiles felt like his jack of all trades skill set came in handy. They travelled for a good week before settling in. Stiles drew a crude layout of his dream hut, outlining his idea on the ground so he wouldn’t lose it as long as the weather held. Erica and Boyd disappeared for a few days, returning with helpful supplies, like an axe, nails, and twine. Stiles pocketed the giant spool of twine, thanking Erica by petting her behind the ears. 

He spent time searching the area for perfect pieces of wood. He found a fallen tree, which he spent a good day chopping up into planks, discarding his shirt as sweat dripped down his body. He’d wanted to make a tree house, off the ground, but if he did the wolves wouldn’t be able to join him. It would be safer, but the only way it could work is if he made a ladder of sorts. Eventually, that was his goal, but first he needed to start smaller, with a shack big enough to house them all. 

The roof was what took him the longest, using the twine to thatch branches together easier than without it. The house had a stream nearby, which helped in its location. The first night Stiles slept under the roof on hard packed dirt surrounded by wolves, he couldn’t stop smiling to himself as he rest his head on Derek’s stomach. 

Things between he and Derek were odd. Derek rarely left his side, unless it was to hunt with Isaac. Derek brought him branches that were usable, as did Isaac, but mostly kept watch. The area had been peaceful so far, without disturbance. Stiles hoped that it would remain that way. He didn’t like thinking about how he didn’t trust other humans, but what would someone do if they found him in the middle of the woods with wolves? They’d attack, most likely, try to kill the wolves. Stiles didn’t want that to happen. 

Once he’d completely finished his hut, he’d made a fire pit, a real one, with a ring of rocks surrounding it, using an unchopped piece of wood as a stump for him to sit on and whittle the evenings away. Stiles took to talking to himself, since the wolves couldn’t respond with words. They each had their own personalities, which shown through their gestures and expressions. They didn’t need words to get their points across. 

Slowly, Stiles started saving his carvings instead of throwing them into the fire. There wasn’t a need to dispose of them; he wasn’t going anywhere. Stiles kept track of the moon in the sky each night, watching it wax, the full moon getting closer. The night before he’d get to see Derek again, he laid out by the fire, his back against Derek’s broad body, whittling a figurine of his mother as he told his friends one of his mother’s stories. 

He’d taken to telling one each night. He knew them well, but not as well as his mother. Stiles was no storyteller, and he’d known his wording hadn’t been as captivating as his mother’s, but he seemed to keep the attention of Erica, Boyd, and Isaac easily enough. Derek, though, always laid with his head down and eyes closed. Stiles never knew what to think of it. 

That night they slept under the stars, instead of inside the hut. 

Stiles woke up alone for the first time in over a month to ashes in the firepit, long cold, without a wolf in sight. Stiles wasn’t too worried, but it was unsettling to be alone for the first time in two months. 

“Derek?” Stiles called out. “Erica, Boyd, Isaac!” He yelled, cupping his hands around his mouth as he walked the perimeter of their sanctuary. He went about his morning business, then filled up his waterskin by the stream, washing his face and neck as well before heading back to the campsite. 

When he got there, he was still alone. The sun was out, and the forest was full of noises; insects and animals going about their own daily lives. Instead of panicking, Stiles started making a stew. He skinned a rabbit that had been hanging just inside the hut, so no wild animals would get to their catch. 

As he readied the stew, he thought about the full moon, about seeing Derek again. The month hadn’t flown by, not really, with having Derek so close and yet so far. They’d kept their distance, somehow, not crossing a line while Derek was in his wolf form, but at the same time they hadn’t. Stiles touched him constantly, was always near him and whenever Stiles thought about Derek, human Derek, a shiver went down his spine. He’d have that Derek before him that night, and he wasn’t sure what was going to happen. 

Stiles’ eyelids grew heavy as he licked his lips, thinking about Derek’s bare form, the curve of his ass, and the sheer size of him. His muscles were defined, more so than Stiles’ lithe form would allow. It made Stiles’ mouth water, and his pants grow tighter. Stiles bit his lip as he wiped at his forehead with his arm, his hands bloody from the rabbit. 

Cursing to himself, Stiles used the water from his waterskin to rinse his hands. He walked into the hut, closing his eyes as he took a deep breath. He hadn’t touched himself since before he’d been sacrificed, never having the chance to. With shaky hands, he unlaced his pants, gulping as he wrapped a hand around his growing erection, letting out a short gasp as he fell to his knees onto his bedding. Stiles shut his eyes, unable to keep from thinking about he and Derek’s kiss on the last full moon, about Derek’s firm grip on him, the feel of his lips against his own skin, Derek’s breath on him. Stiles moaned, his eyes shut tight as he quickened his pace, his stomach tensing as he let out a shuddering breath, coming into his own hand. 

Finally, Stiles opened his eyes to the mess he’d made. Kneeling back on his heels, he looked around the cabin. He had nothing to clean his hands with. He looked at his shirt, supposing he could use it, then clean it. He was about to wipe his hand on it, when he heard rustling outside. They were back, and he’d just--

Stiles panicked, standing up and righting himself in time for Derek to appear in the doorway, his ears perked up, his eyes on Stiles. Stiles took a step towards the back of the hut as Derek entered it, his nose in the air: he knew. Of course he knew, and he could probably hear the beat of Stiles’ heart, jack-rabbiting away. Stiles was embarrassed at first, as Derek sniffed his hand. There was no mistaking what he’d done. 

“I--” Stiles began to say. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you.” Blood rushed to Stiles’ cheeks, his face reddening as he’d said the words out loud. Derek licked Stiles hand, making Stiles drop to the ground, raking his fingers through Derek’s fur. Derek’s tongue caressed Stiles’ hand, then continued cleaning him, licking him up his arm as Stiles buried his face against Derek’s fur. “I want to be with you,” Stiles whispered as if it was a secret. Derek made an indiscernible noise, as if he was restraining himself as he continued licking up Stiles’ arm, pressing against him. Stiles’ balance faltered as Derek pushed against him. He laid back as Derek’s massive form hovered over him, his snout moving Stiles’ shirt up his chest, his long tongue licking over Stiles’ stomach. Stiles, panting, shifted in place, his eyes wide as Derek laid down on top of him, his eyes closing as he continued licking him. 

Derek was heavy, but Stiles didn’t care as Derek finally slowed down, putting his head down on Stiles’ chest, looking at him as Stiles ran his fingers through Derek’s fur. 

“Is it sundown yet?” Stiles joked, his voice catching in his throat. Derek grunted as his eyes closed. Stiles knew it would be wrong if they had continued down the path that they had been on, but he’d wanted it. He wanted Derek. Luckily for them both, the full moon was only hours away. 

Eventually, Derek got off of him, pressing his nose against Stiles’ cheek before walking out of the hut. When Stiles emerged, after readjusting himself, he found piles of clothes set out. That was where they’d gone: to find clothes. 

There must be a village within a few hours run for the wolves, if they’d gotten back after midday. Stiles wondered which direction they had come from. Smiling to himself, Stiles saw that they even brought him an extra pair of clothes, since he only had the one shirt because the other had been cut up for bandaging. 

Stiles put the new shirt on, taking the other to the stream to try to get some of the dirt out of it. Derek didn’t join him, instead Erica did, taking her time getting a drink from the stream. She sniffed Stiles, snorting afterwards, letting Stiles know that she _knew_. Stiles realized that come moon up that it could be awkward, and he wasn’t sure that everyone would fit in the hut. 

He spent the afternoon chopping firewood, more than enough for a couple of nights. It kept him busy, not thinking about he and Derek, about being alone for a month with a pack of wolves, of everything. Derek left him alone for the entire afternoon, and as the sun began to set, Stiles began to become anxious. 

He paced around the fire after he lit it, chewing at his fingernails, the wolves not far from his vision. He looked to the sky, the horizon, where the moon would appear when it was time. Stiles held his breath as he watched the wolves shift, averting his eyes. This time they changed into the clothes that they provided themselves. 

They looked completely different this time, in Stiles’ eyes. They looked human.  
“Stiles,” Derek said, grabbing Stiles’ attention. Derek in clothes was nothing like Derek naked. He wore loose linen pants, and a shirt that wasn’t at all fitted to his body and yet the effect it had on Stiles was the same as Derek’s tongue on his body earlier in the day. Derek looked so harmless, so _human_ that Stiles couldn’t help but smile. 

“Derek,” Stiles said, unsure of himself as he looked at the others. 

“We need to talk,” Boyd stated. 

They ate first. Like normal, Derek sat by Stiles. They sat cross-legged, their knees touching while Erica used Stiles’ stump to sit on. When they were through, they passed around the waterskin. 

“What do we need to talk about?” Stiles asked Boyd. 

“There is a village not far from here,” Isaac stated, looking at Stiles. “They know we’re the cursed wolves.” 

“How do you know?” Stiles asked, looking between them all. “Can you be sure?”

“In the past, we have been good about only a couple of us going in and stealing,” Derek said, sighing. “Today, we were careless and they might send out a hunting party.”

“If they do it tonight, then they won’t find wolves,” Stiles pointed out. 

“That’s one thing we have going for us,” Boyd said, adding a log to the fire, sending embers skywards as it caught flame. Derek didn’t stop looking at Stiles throughout the talk, which made Stiles blush continuously. Stiles listened to Erica talk about her life before the bite, and Isaac too. Throughout, Derek was quiet as he watched Stiles whittle. It was nice to be able to hear others tell a story, to talk. Stiles wished he had more time with them. As they talked, Derek put his arm around Stiles, a hand resting on Stiles’ hip at first, Derek’s nose teasing as he dragged it across his Stiles’ cheek. Stiles stopped whittling, his eyes searching the others before turning his head and finding Derek’s lips. The blood pumping through Stiles’ body echoed in his eardrums, drowning out Isaac’s story as Derek’s tongue begged entrance into Stiles’ mouth.

  
  
art by tsumi

Derek cupped Stiles’ face with his hands, inching closer to him as the kiss deepened. Stiles kissed him back, his hands clutching at Derek’s pant leg. He moaned against Derek, his face turning away from him as Derek mouthed at his neck, scenting him. With heavy lidded eyes, Stiles looked to the others. He’d been embarrassed, at first, that he and Derek were being so intimate while others were around, but when he saw the state that they were in, he realized another thing about those who he traveled with: modesty was not something they possessed.

Erica, Boyd, and Isaac seemed not to be paying attention to Derek and Stiles in the slightest, kissing each other much the same way that Derek and he had been kissing, only with the three of them. Stiles had never seen such a sight, or heard of it, but it made his entire body tingle. Derek captured Stiles’ lips with his own again, a finger under Stiles’ chin, keeping his attention. Stiles let out another moan of surprise when Derek’s hand gripped his ass, pulling him closer, their kisses becoming more desperate. 

“Derek,” Stiles said as Derek drug his cheek across Stiles’ sensitive neck, making him shudder. Stiles bit his own lip as he sat practically in Derek’s lap once more, the feel of Derek’s erection plain as day as he rubbed against him. Stiles chanced another glance at the other three, now void of clothing. He averted his eyes, finding Derek’s once more as Derek’s hands roamed Stiles’ upper body, sliding beneath the fabric of his shirt. 

“Yes?” Derek asked, his voice heavy with want. 

“Can we-- can we go inside?” Stiles asked. Derek smiled at him, lifting him up as he stood. Stiles, shocked at first, clung to Derek as he began walking towards the hut, wrapping his legs around Derek’s waist as he went. Stiles couldn’t help but laugh, though he couldn’t believe he was so easily picked up by Derek, as if he weighed nothing at all. 

Derek put Stiles down on the bedroll before taking his shirt off. Stiles mirrored his actions, his heart rate picking up as he laid down, unsure of what he was doing. Instead of kissing, Derek trailed a finger down Stiles’ chest, catching on the trail of hair that disappeared beneath Stiles’ leather laced pants. Stiles’ legs fell open as his breath caught in his throat. Derek looked him in the eye, his irises bright in the moonlight that came through the window. 

“Earlier,” Derek said, his voice lower than it had been before, “when I licked you clean, was that alright?”. Stiles nodded his head, unable to look away from him as Derek’s finger circled one of Stiles’ nipples. 

“I know that most of the time, the human sacrifices have to be untouched--”

“Yes,” Stiles admitted, his voice trembling, but not because of fear. He wanted Derek so much, and having him lain next to him, touching him, was almost too much for him to handle. Derek bent forward, kissing Stiles chastely on the lips, his hand sliding down Stiles’ chest once more, cupping him between his legs. Stiles groaned, moving his hips against Derek’s palm, seeking friction. “I was chosen not because I’m a virgin,” Stiles gasped as he palmed at Derek’s erection, his fingers catching on the linen, outlining his length. “But because of the moles on my back.” 

Derek hummed as he climbed on top of Stiles, their cocks pressing together as he moved his hips on top of Stiles, rubbing his stubbled cheek against his bare shoulder. Stiles could do nothing but grab onto Derek’s ass, pinning them together as they both panted for breath. 

“You smell like pack,” Derek groaned as he flipped Stiles over onto his stomach, mouthing at his moles, finger tracing over the constellation that designated him as the human sacrifice. “Like mine.” 

“I’m yours,” Stiles said, knowing he was speaking the truth. Derek’s chest practically rumbled above him as he pressed his chest to Stiles’ back, wrapping his arms around him as he buried his face against Stiles’ shoulder, his erection pressing against Stiles’ ass. Unable to help himself, Stiles pushed back against him, goosebumps covering his body as he undid his pants, freeing himself. He let out a whimper as Derek took his cock in hand, smearing a bead of precome around the head with his thumb before stroking him. They were on their sides, and Stiles let out an open mouthed moan as Derek marked his shoulder and neck with his mouth, sucking and lapping at him as he moved against Stiles, his hand jacking him. 

Stiles had never felt anything like it, to have the hand of another know him so intimately. He felt his release building quickly as he reached behind him, tugging down Derek’s pants easily. Derek’s cock slid between Stiles’ legs, moving against him as Stiles came, spilling onto Derek’s hand as Derek continued to thrust against him. Stiles twisted his neck, searching for Derek’s mouth. As they kissed, Derek stilled his movements. Stiles felt Derek come, a mess spilling between his thighs. 

Both of their chests heaving, bodies covered in sweat, Stiles continued to kiss him as Derek smeared Stiles’ come over his stomach. As their kisses slowed, Derek began mouthing once more at Stiles’ neck, then his chest, his stomach, licking him clean once more, only this time he was human. When he moved down even further, spreading Stiles’ legs wide, Stiles reddened, gasping as Derek nipped and sucked at his thighs. It wasn’t until Derek had him on his stomach once more that he yelped as Derek’s hot, wet mouth was on his ass. Stiles buried his face against his makeshift pillow, groaning as Derek pressed inwards with his tongue, opening him up slowly. 

It felt good, but not like anything he’d expected. Derek didn’t speak as he continued on, his hands roaming Stiles’ back and ass cheeks while he opened him up with his tongue, eventually adding a finger. Stiles winced at the intrusion, then moaned at the feel of Derek’s tongue against him once more. 

Derek wasn’t through, yet, as Stiles felt Derek’s cock pressing against his entrance. Stiles moaned as he pushed just the head in, then pulled out only to replace it with his tongue once more, adding another finger. Stiles felt himself growing hard again, so he licked his hand before he wrapped it around his cock, jacking himself off as as Derek fucked him with two fingers. Stiles was over sensitized, and it didn’t take him long to come a second time, his body spent and limp, though Derek wasn’t done yet. 

“Give me your hand,” Derek said, his voice cracking with need. He maneuvered Stiles’ hand towards his ass, where he fingered himself, using his own come as lube. Stiles whimpered as he pressed in a second finger, Derek’s mouth replacing them as he pulled away. He mouthed at Stiles’ ass cheeks, biting down before pressing his cock against Stiles’ entrance once more. This time, it slid in easier, though the pressure was more than Stiles was prepared to take as Derek mounted him, holding onto his hips as he thrust inwards. 

“Breathe,” Derek said, his breath hot against Stiles’ back as he kissed a line up his spine. His movements weren’t fast, but steady and filling. Stiles panted beneath him, exhausted as he moved with Derek, meeting each thrust. He now understood why so many people in his village talked about sex, about the sweat and the intimate nature. 

He felt connected to Derek on another level, like they were meant to be together. He’d only known Derek, the human version of him, for three nights, but he felt like it was longer because of the time he’d spent with the pack. Them being together felt _right_. Derek pressed Stiles against the bedroll, his fingers finding Stiles’ and lacing them together as he thrust into him. 

“Stiles,” Derek said, his voice breathy as he pressed his forehead against Stiles’ shoulder. “Stiles, I’m yours, too.” 

Stiles smiled beneath him, pulling Derek’s hands closer, holding them against his chest as Derek’s pace quickened. He pulled out of Stiles, coming onto his back and ass. Stiles was sore, unbelievably so, aching as Derek took his time cleaning him off. He pulled Stiles close when he was done, wrapping his arms around him. Stiles felt safe in Derek’s arms, but he couldn’t help but wish he didn’t need to wait another month to see him. Stiles turned his head so he could see Derek, his own features relaxed in the aftermath of sex. 

“Can we head home?” Stiles asked sleepily. “I want home, but I want you, too.” 

“If you want to go home,” Derek said, pressing his lips against Stiles’ shoulder. “I won’t force you to stay.” 

“But you’ll come with me?” 

“I’ll take you home, but I can’t stay there with you.” Stiles turned around on the bed roll so he could face Derek. He knew there wasn’t much time left with him, so he wanted to make sure that Derek knew how he felt. 

“I want to be with you,” Stiles said, cupping Derek’s face with one hand, running his thumb over Derek’s lips. “But I want to be able to talk to my parents, tell them I’m alive, that the story isn’t true. You’re not a monster, Derek, you’re-- you’re beautiful. I want my mother to never tell that story again, I want Scott to know I wasn’t sacrificed. I want them to know that I’m leaving to be with you, not as the sacrifice they sent me to be, but willfully with you. Part of your pack. I want to be with you, I want to live with you.” 

Derek smiled, nodding his head. 

“I’ll take you back, we’ll go back.” 

Stiles hugged Derek, kissing him. Beyond exhausted, he found comfort in Derek’s arms wrapped around him, happy to be going home, even if only to say goodbye to the life he once knew.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much to tsumi for doing such amazing work! 
> 
> and thank you guys for reading and commenting! It really means a lot :)
> 
> in case you guys haven't heard about the fandom initiative, a fund raiser to help out a fellow fan (dani_frek) & her husband, check out this awesome [RAFFLE](https://www.indiegogo.com/projects/fandom-initiative-help-us-make-a-difference) that has a lot of amazing fan art and fan creations as prizes, as well as an [art and fanfic auction](http://f-initiative.livejournal.com/731.html)! I have [two fics](http://f-initiative.livejournal.com/1247.html) up for auction, and there are so many amazing artists and writers in this fandom that have donated their time to this cause. Please help a fellow fan out!

  
  
art by tsumi

  
Stiles only packed his essentials, since he planned on carrying everyone’s clothes with him. He left behind all of his carvings, in case he ever made it back. He still had his walking stick, the one he had to use when he had been injured months prior, to help him walk. It was a ragged terrain Derek took them through, full of steep climbs downward and slippery moss covered rocks. Stiles stopped often, but not for long. He wanted to get home as quick as possible.

They passed several villages, one of which Stiles only saw the outskirts of until the sky opened up, forcing him to seek refuge away from his companions until it let up. It stormed for three days, downpouring to a point that Stiles could barely see. The village they stopped by was large, bigger than Stiles’ own. By a fire, Stiles sipped a broth that he warmed up out of the generosity of a family. He couldn’t help but wish they’d found a cave instead, so he could be with the others. He didn’t like being separated from them, but Derek had insisted, pushing Stiles towards the village. 

At first, Stiles had been afraid that they’d leave him here, stranded, but Stiles had to believe that when the weather let up that Derek would be there waiting for him to the North of the village. 

Stiles found it intriguing that now that he was surrounded by civilization for the first time in months, he didn’t want it. Though the family was kind enough to offer Stiles shelter for the night, he felt like an outsider, like he no longer belonged. 

The evening passed by the fireside, where Stiles carved a wolf that looked like Derek. 

“Where are you coming from?” the man named Deucalion asked. Stiles didn’t know how to answer, because he’d been in the woods for so long. Stiles shrugged his shoulders as he frowned down at the carving. 

“I’ve been traveling for a while,” Stiles admitted. It wasn’t a lie, so Stiles felt comfortable saying it. Deucalion seemed to take Stiles’ answer in stride as he eyed Stiles’ handy work. 

“That doesn’t look like any wolf I’ve ever come across,” Deucalion said as he added more wood to the fire. Again, Stiles shrugged as he admired the likeness. 

“It’s a hobby; nothing more,” Stiles said as he looked up, catching a glint in Deucalion’s eye as it reflected off the fire. They glowed like Derek’s did. Stiles’ heartbeat jack-rabbited as his jaw clenched. He was in a _wolves den_. He looked down at the carving, continuing to work on it so that he could calm down. When he looked up again, Kali, the woman who’d made the broth, came forward with a smile. 

“I’ve made up a bed for you,” she supplied, indicating for Stiles to follow her. Desperate to get away from Deucalion without giving himself away, Stiles got up to follow her. Their house wasn’t large, not by any means, but it was bigger compared to even his parent’s cottage. Thinking about his parents and how he’d see them soon had his heart wrenching. 

Just because Deucalion was a wolf didn’t mean he was bad. Stiles thought about Derek, how he’d told him that he wasn’t a monster. Being a werewolf didn’t make Derek a bad person, so Stiles knew he shouldn’t prejudge Deucalion. He caught Deucalion watching him as Kali showed him a makeshift bed. 

“Thank you,” he said, setting his pack by it. Kali smiled at him, feral-looking as she smelled him, not bothering to hold back her instincts. Stiles’ back stiffened as she opened her eyes to find that they were red, like Derek’s. 

“You reek of wolf,” Kali said, leaning in to smell him once more. “Not just any wolf,” she practically purred into his ear. Stiles shivered as she pressed him against the wall of the house, pinning him in place. “You smell of Hale.” 

Stiles pressed his lips together, not wanting to give over any information in case Deucalion or Kali had any past grievances with Derek or his pack. 

“Do you know where he is?” she asked, a clawed finger dragging across Stiles’ cheek. Stiles gulped before he answered her. 

“No,” Stiles said. 

“You lie,” she pointed out. “You can’t lie to us, human,” she said, grabbing hold of the back of his neck as it thundered overhead. Stiles fell to his knees, her claws digging into his bicep. Kali’s grip loosened on him as thunder rumbled once more, shaking the house with it’s intensity as the rain battered against the roof. 

“It doesn’t matter if you won’t tell us,” Deucalion said as Stiles heard it, in the distance: Derek’s howl. “He’ll come.” Stiles made a move for the door, but Kali was strong, stronger than he was as she shoved him against the wall, choking him by holding him by his throat. Lightning struck, lighting up the sky as Derek appeared by the door, his wolf form huge compared to the size of the door, his fangs showing as he growled, fur raised as his eyes flashed. 

“Kali, let the human go,” Deucalion said. Stiles fell to the ground, gasping for air as Derek stood between them, protecting him. Stiles put a hand on Derek as he stood up. “Derek, the prodigal son returns,” Deucalion said, bowing. Derek’s growls didn’t cease as Deucalion stood up once more, a grin on his face. “We heard tale that you were alive, but no one has seen you in years. You know how to hide.” 

“What brings you to our little corner?” Kali asked Derek, though they knew he couldn’t answer. Her eyes flitted towards Stiles. “And what are you doing with a _human_?” 

“I’m pack,” Stiles answered, his fist clenched in Derek’s fur. “And we’re passing through.” 

“Nonsense, you’re staying here, with us, out of the rain and cold. What with your delicate, human sensibilities,” Deucalion said, showing off his claws. Derek pushed Stiles back against the wall as Deucalion stepped forward. “Derek, above anyone, knows how much of a liability trusting humans can be.”

“We’re leaving, now,” Stiles said, making his voice as steady as he possibly could. He picked up his pack, inching his way towards the door.

“Do you know what Derek’s done? What he did to his pack, to an entire village?” Deucalion bellowed, fangs elongating. “He’s put us all in danger, even now, years later. After a generation has passed, they still remember, still fear the full moon.” 

Deucalion lunged at Stiles, swiping a hand at him. Stiles dashed for the door, only to be thwarted by Kali who grabbed hold of Stiles by his throat once more. Derek, enraged, charged at Kali. 

“Killing me won’t do anything but solidify the fact that people believe you’re monsters,” Stiles shouted, grabbing at his own neck, hoping that Kali would let him go. “Derek didn’t do anything,” Stiles almost sobbed. “It was a human girl, it was a human who was the monster, not Derek. You’re not monsters unless you give in to it. Killing me solves nothing.” 

Kali let go of Stiles. He stumbled, but caught himself, giving one last look to Deucalion before running out into the storm. 

“Don’t be the monster they expect you to be,” Stiles called out as he took off towards the darkness, getting drenched within seconds. Stiles kept his eyes on Derek, who walked ahead of him. The trail was invisible to him, and was full of slippery rocks and sudden drops as they made their way down the mountain. He was hyper vigilant after the encounter with Deucalion and Kali, but grateful for the bit of broth they’d provided him with. 

When they were a safe distance from the village, once they reunited with Erica, Boyd, and Isaac, Stiles bent over, catching his breath. He’d almost died. He felt his neck where Kali’s claws got him, where he’d surely have bruises later. It hurt him, knowing that not only was Derek disliked by humans, but by his own kind as well. Stiles wrapped his arms around Derek, burying his face against his neck, wishing that he could talk to him, could kiss him. Erica tugged on Stiles’ shirt, bringing his attention away from Derek. The storm hadn’t let up, and Stiles was already soaked through; they needed to find shelter, fast. 

After traveling back into the woods, away from the beaten path, the trees overhead were thicker, inhibiting some of the rainfall. Deep within the woods they found a small shack, much like Stiles’ own back in his village. Upon entering, it looked empty; Stiles stripped down out of his wet clothes, happy that his leather pack had kept their clothes dry inside. With chattering teeth, Stiles pulled on Derek’s linen pants and shirt. He was cold, so cold that the thin clothes weren’t enough to keep him warm. The wolves had shaken out most of the water that drenched their fur, but Stiles couldn’t use them for warmth because they were still wet. He hugged his own knees as he sat, wishing for a fire but there was no dry wood to make it with. He’d have to go the night without the warmth. The wolves surrounded him anyways, using their body heat to try and help keep the cold air away. 

Stiles woke up curled up in the middle of a pile of wolves, his head groggy and body aching. He felt ill as he sat up, holding his head. He was freezing, though his head felt hot. Stiles shook Derek, his eyes barely able to stay awake as he laid back down, turning towards Derek, whose eyes were open and watching him. 

“ ‘m sick,” Stiles said. “I can’t go anywhere like this,” Stiles said, burying his face against Derek’s fur. He fell back asleep within moments, tucking his arms up against Derek’s warm body. 

He awoke sometime later to the wolves growling, his mind hazy as he looked up to find a human, a woman with a knife. Stiles sat up too fast, reaching a hand out towards her as the other tugged on Derek’s fur, keeping him from attacking. 

“Don’t move,” Stiles pleaded. “They aren’t going to hurt you, they’re just protecting me.”

“This is my hut,” she said, giving the wolves a once over. “How are you controlling them?”

“They’re smart,” Stiles said, holding onto his head. He could barely sit up. “They know when someone is a threat. We’re in your space, I’m-- I’m sorry.” 

“Are you okay?” she asked, taking a tentative step forward. Stiles shook his head, because he wasn’t. 

“I was caught out in the storm,” Stiles said, leaning on Derek who was shaking as he rumbled his distrust. “I’ve got a fever.” 

“Can I-?” She asked, stepping forward. Stiles nodded his head as she came into the hut. “They won’t attack me?”

“No,” Stiles promised. “As long as you don’t hurt me.” 

“I won’t hurt you,” she said as she put her hand against his forehead. “You’re burning up. We need to break the fever. Stay here, I’ll be back.”

“What’s your name?” Stiles asked, his voice weak. 

“Braeden,” she said by the door. Stiles smiled at her as he lay practically on top of Derek. 

“Nice to meet you Braeden, I’m Stiles.” 

“Rest, Stiles. I’ll be back soon.” 

Stiles slept, his fever-addled mind drifting in and out of a fitful sleep where he dreamed of being chased by his village, of being killed by Deucalion, of he and Derek together. When he came to, he had a wet cloth across his forehead, half sitting up with Derek beneath his back acting as a giant pillow. Stiles was surprised to find Braeden there with a bowl of broth, waiting for him. Stiles could smell the fire that was probably burning just outside the hut. 

“Oh good, you’re awake. You’re fever’s broken, and you need this for strength,” she said, handing him the wooden bowl. Stiles sipped at it as he watched her looking at his companions. 

“Thank you,” Stiles whispered. He felt better, though weakened. 

“Are you some sort of witch?” she asked. 

“If I was a witch, would I get sick?” Stiles asked, shaking his head. “I’m no witch.”

“You have so many familiars, though,” she pointed out. “Wolves listen to no man.” Derek lifted his head, staring at her. Stiles looked from Derek to Braeden, smiling. 

“They are no normal wolves,” Stiles teased. “They are mine and I am theirs.” 

“Well, you are welcome to stay until you are better. They brought us rabbit to eat.” Stiles grinned as she pointed to the two rabbits that hung just inside the doorway. It wasn’t until then that he saw that Isaac, Erica, and Boyd were all outside, curled up together napping. There wasn’t enough room in the hut for all of them plus Braeden. 

Once Braeden left to go gather mushrooms to eat with the rabbit, Stiles turned his attention towards Derek, his fingers raking through Derek’s fur. Derek licked his face, pressing his nose against Stiles’, which made him smile. 

“I’m okay, now,” Stiles said as Derek whimpered. “Thankfully she was here to take care of me, but I’d rather it have been you.” Stiles pressed his forehead against Derek’s, closing his eyes. He was so close to his village, but still so far. He had to get better first. 

They stayed with Braeden for three nights, where Stiles carved her three animals in appreciation for taking care of him. By the time they left, the moon was waxing once more. They moved slower than before, though the terrain wasn’t as rugged as it had been. They didn’t stop at any more villages, so Stiles had to forage for food when he needed it, living off of berries and edible mushrooms that he knew wouldn’t make him sick. 

When he started to recognize the scenery, his heart beat sped up and he started running. He knew where he was, not even a mile from his village. The wolves ran beside him, Derek just in front, leading the way until suddenly Derek stopped dead in his tracks, causing Stiles to trip. 

There, a ways in front of them, was Scott. Stiles’ heart leapt into his throat as he stood up, eyes wide. 

“Scott,” Stiles called out. When Scott saw him, he started running towards Stiles. Stiles took off, leaving Derek and the others behind as they met and wrapped their arms around each other. 

“Oh gods, you’re alive,” Scott said with tears in his eyes. “You’re alive.”

“I’m home,” Stiles said, emotions washing over him so intense that he couldn’t help but start crying himself. “I’m home.” 

“But-- but you were sacrificed.”

“No,” Stiles said wiping at his eyes as he looked back towards the woods. The wolves were no where to be seen. Stiles’ face fell, but he knew why they did it: they didn’t want to cause panic with their appearance. “The stories were wrong, Scott. They aren’t going to harm anyone.”

“What? How do you mean?” Scott asked, perplexed. 

“Let’s go home, first,” Stiles said. “I want to see my family.” 

They walked together towards the village. As they got closer, Stiles became more anxious. He hadn’t realized they were that close, that it would be this soon. The full moon was days away, and he’d have rather spent one more night with Derek before he got home, but now he’d have to wait another month to be with him. As they walked, Stiles’ face reddened as he thought about Derek’s naked form against his, about what they did. He wanted to be with Derek, even now that he was back home. 

When the village came into view, Stiles couldn’t help but start running once more. The villagers all looked at him, wide-eyed as he passed them by on the way to his parents’ house. His mother was outside, as she always was, telling stories to the younger villagers. When she looked up and saw Stiles, she screamed. 

“Stiles!” she called out. “Oh, my son,” she said as she got up to meet him. Having his mother’s arms around him once more felt like nothing he ever knew existed. There was no other feeling that could describe his mother’s arms around him as she sobbed with happiness. “How are you here? You were lost to us.” She cupped his face, smearing the dirt around that lined his cheeks. 

“Not lost,” Stiles said, his voice cracking. “Finding myself.” 

“How do you mean?” she asked, doting on him by attempting to fix his hair. “Oh, you’re rail thin, you need food.” 

“I mean I found where I’m supposed to be,” Stiles told her as she practically dragged him into their house, Scott trailing behind them. The smell of his mother’s cooking had his stomach growling. When he saw fresh bread he couldn’t help but reach for it, his mouth watering. He hadn’t had bread in months. Stiles moaned at the first bite of it as he sat.

His father entered the house not long after, a look of disbelief on his face as he enveloped Stiles in a hug that he refused to let go of. 

“How--”

“The story,” Stiles began, grabbing everyone’s attention. “The story about the curse, it’s wrong,” Stiles said, his arms flailing around. “The wolves, they don’t want sacrifices.”

“What do you mean?” his father asked, his face falling in concern. 

“They found me out in the woods, bleeding to death, and one saved me,” Stiles said, lifting his shirt to reveal his healed scar. “He hasn’t killed any of the humans that have been sacrificed--”

“What do you mean one saved you?” his father asked, aghast.

“Yes, he did” Stiles said, his excitement faltering when he saw his father’s reaction. “They came back with me--”

“You brought them with you?” Deaton asked as he appeared in the doorway. Stiles’ back stiffened as Deaton invited himself in. 

“They lead me back, yes,” Stiles said, wary. “I wasn’t sure how to get back, once they took me to safety.” 

“You speak as though you could talk with them,” Claudia said, worried. Stiles looked between them all, gauging their potential reactions. 

“I can, and I have,” Stiles said slowly. “The curse isn’t what you think, and they aren’t rabid animals--”

“Of course they are,” Deaton hissed, stepping towards Stiles. “And you’ve brought their wrath back down upon us by bringing them here.” 

“No--” Stiles said with a shake of his head. He looked to his father for support. “They won’t hurt anyone,” Stiles pleaded. “It’s a misunderstanding. I didn’t need to be sacrificed.” Deaton and his father exchanged looks, his father frowning as Deaton put a hand on Stiles’ shoulder. 

“We can’t risk their wrath, Stiles. You coming back has put our entire village at risk, not only to the wolves, but to the Argents.” 

“Argent?” Stiles asked, his mind thinking back to Derek’s story, and the fact there was an Argent in their village. Stiles pushed Deaton away from him, but his grip on Stiles was too strong. He drug Stiles out of his parents’ house, kicking and screaming as he was flung to the ground. When he looked up, Argent was there, standing above him. Stiles recoiled, his heart hammering in his chest.

Over his normal clothes Gerard wore a wolf pelt. Before being sacrificed, Stiles wouldn’t have thought twice about it, since he himself had one for the winter, but he knew deep down that it wasn’t a normal wolf pelt that Gerard wore, but a werewolf one. If Gerard knew Derek was nearby, he’d skin him alive. 

“We want you to take us to the wolves,” Gerard said as he was joined by the other village elders, including his father. Stiles shook his head. He wasn’t turning Derek over to his village; he’d rather die. 

“They’re gone,” Stiles stammered. Gerard smiled down at him, extending a hand in order to help Stiles stand. Reluctantly, Stiles took it. Once he got to his feet, though, his hands were forced behind his back and bound. Gerard grabbed him by the scruff of the neck, manhandling him in a way that made Stiles wince. “Those wolves are the reason this village was erected. This very village was started by my family in the aftermath of devastation brought to us by those monsters. You were to satiate their bloodlust until they moved on, but you’re alive. They’ll be coming back and we can’t risk the livelihood of this village because you decided to run from them.”

“I didn’t run,” Stiles said as he tried to free himself. “They won’t hurt anyone.” 

“They are monsters,” Gerard hissed, shoving Stiles away from him, forcing him to the ground. Stiles spat out dirt, hoping that Derek had run, leaving him here. As Stiles was brought to his feet once more, he let his body become dead weight, his feet dragging as he was hoisted up by two men and brought towards the town center.

“What are you doing with him?” his mother asked, her voice panicked. “He could be telling the truth about the wolves, we could be alright.”

“I can’t chance it,” Gerard said as he watched Stiles be strung up, his hands above his head against a pole. “This time when he’s sacrificed, there will be no denying what we’ve given them.” 

“No,” Stiles said, tugging against his restraints. “Don’t, please, you’re making a mistake!” Stiles’ clothes were ripped off of him as each elder performed the same ritual as before, smearing blood across Stiles’ forehead. 

In the distance, there was a howl. Stiles panicked, thrashing against the rope that bound him to the pole. 

“Let me go, he doesn’t want to me to be killed. Dad, please you have to believe me. We’ll leave,” Stiles sobbed out of anger at the situation, at the fact that his parents were part of this. “We’ll leave and go away, no one will ever be hurt. The curse isn’t right!” Stiles screamed. 

Deaton handed Gerard a knife, which made the situation all the more real to Stiles. He was going to die, and Derek was trapped as a wolf. With tears streaming down his face, Stiles closed his eyes and waited for the pain to come. 

Instead, shrieking brought him out of his safe space. Wolves appeared, growling and launching themselves into the gathering crowd. It dispersed quickly, letting them through as Derek charged at Gerard, sending him to the ground with his teeth bared. 

“Derek don’t hurt him,” Stiles said, his chest heaving. Derek backed down, stepping away from Gerard, though he was reluctant to. It was then that Stiles saw the knife that Gerard held. “Derek, no!” Stiles screamed as Gerard lunged at him. Derek yelped as he was stabbed, then lashed out at Gerard, biting him, ripping his throat out. The crowd was in a panic, screaming as some of the men ran to get weapons. Derek staggered towards Stiles, but Stiles was still bound. “Derek,” Stiles said as Derek pressed his head against his thigh, collapsing into his human form. 

Gasps erupted across the crowd as Erica, Boyd, and Isaac all transformed before their eyes, completely naked. Scott cut Stiles down, his arms wrapping around Derek, who was still bleeding. Stiles pressed his hand against the wound, tears streaming down his face as Derek looked up at him, his eyes glassy. 

“Stiles,” Derek whispered, reaching a hand up in order to cup his face. It fell after a moment, his energy drained. Stiles’ shoulder shook as he held back sobs. He looked up, searching for his mother. She rushed forward, ripping the fabric of her skirt to help clog the wound and stop the bleeding. 

Stiles looked up at the sky, where the moon rose: it wasn’t full. Stiles couldn’t help but smile as he realized what had happened: Derek broke the spell. Stiles bent over, capturing Derek’s lips with his own. Gerard lay dead beside them as Derek began to heal and clothes given to Erica, Boyd, and Isaac. 

“The curse has been broken,” Stiles called out to anyone who dare attack his pack. “No more death, no more sacrifices. Gerard died because he wouldn’t listen. Put down your weapons.” 

No one moved as Stiles helped Derek to his feet, the wound all but healed now. Derek was given a pair of pants and a shirt, but clung to Stiles as his father and mother stepped forward, along with Deaton. Stiles, too, was wary of them as they approached. 

“Is the curse truly broken?” his father asked. Derek and Stiles exchanged looks, then nodded to the two elders. 

“It has been, I no longer feel it’s pull over me,” Derek admitted. “But we will not stay where we aren’t welcome. My pack and I will leave in peace and will not disturb your village again.”

No one said anything as Derek joined Erica, Boyd, and Isaac, the four of them looking at their bodies, wondering what the curse breaking meant for them as a pack. Stiles turned his attention to his parents, and to Deaton. 

“I’m going with them,” he said. “My place is with them, they’re my pack, and there isn’t a future here for me.” 

He hugged his parents, not lying to himself as he thought about how much he’d miss them. It wasn’t their fault that they listened to the story, but it was theirs that they didn’t listen to him when he told them that it was false. He couldn’t remain in the village if he knew that Derek’s curse was broken, and not only that, but it broke by Derek trying to save Stiles and sacrifice himself for a human. 

Stiles met up with Derek and the others on the outskirts of the village where they waited for him. He’d had time to pack a few things that they may need, this time, if they were to make lives for themselves elsewhere. Stiles handed them each a pack, along with boots and bedrolls. Derek put an arm around Stiles’ shoulder, kissing his cheek. Stiles closed his eyes and sighed. He was home, because wherever Derek was, that was what he considered to be where he belonged.


End file.
